And He's Running Still
by vifetoile89
Summary: A little boy named Mal is told an Aesop's fable by his mother... and then as a young man Mal puts the lesson to use. One-shot, genfic, complete, rated for slight language.


And He's Running Still

By Vifetoile

This story is chockfull of references to _Once Upon a Time in the West_. If you can spot them, good. If you can't, it's a good movie and I recommend it.

Also, the opening story is from _"Aesop's Fables,_" 'The Dog and the Wolf.'

"Once upon a time, there was a wolf prowling around the outskirts of a house."

"What kind of house?"

"A rich man's house. There was a kennel of dogs in the back. And the dogs were all plump, well-fed, well-groomed, and the wolf noticed this. The wolf was hungry, dirty, and exhausted. But one of the dogs spoke to him. What sound does a dog make?"

"Bark bark!"

"That's right. Bark bark, said the dog, why do you live outside over there, in the cold and dark? Why not come and live here where it's nice and warm? And the wolf said, why, it sure does look nice and warm over there." Just to emphasize the point, the mother made sure her little boy was tucked in snug.

"And the dog said, And we get wonderful food, all the food we want. And the wolf said, I can smell it from here. His mouth watered. The dog added, Please, come over here, we'd like it if you came over. You get petted and cooed over a hundred times a day. It's lovely.

"And because the night was _so_ cold, and the wolf was _so_ lonely, he said, Why, yes, I think I'll join you. And the dog leapt up. Wonderful, he said. I'll let you in right now.

"But as he leapt up, the wolf saw something glittering around his neck. What's that? He asked, suspicious.

"This is nothing, the dog replied. Nothing important.

"The wolf asked again, what is that?

"The dog finally answered, this is a collar and leash that the master makes us wear. And the wolf asked, shocked, So you don't get to run wherever you like?"

The little boy shook his head. The mother shook her head too. "No, the dog said, we run where the master tells us, and when, and for how long, but it's a lovely life… But the wolf didn't hear the dog. The wolf had run away, And last I heard, he's running still."

The mother kissed her son on the forehead, and stroked back his stubborn cowlick of hair. "Goodnight, Mal."

"Goodnight, Momma."

Malcolm Reynolds was the little boy's name. And Jill Reynolds was his mother, a beautiful, solitary woman, the anchor of their little community on Sweetwater Ranch. To Mal as a child, it seemed that Jill only had to whistle and the sun would rise, tap her foot to make the springs bubble up, and hug him tightly to make the entire world settle down just about right.

But even Jill couldn't snub the Reaper; even she had to die one day. And die she did, peaceful as falling asleep, even if she'd been in awful pain until that very moment.

And Mal cried, but only a little, because now he was the man of the house, and the _ranchero_ over all eighty acres of Sweetwater, and the forty hands.

But that wasn't as the Alliance saw things. They saw that Jill Reynolds had never bought the land that was her ranch, but had only inherited it from her husband (deceased). And that there was no proof that Mal Reynolds was the biological son of that husband (all events pointed to the contrary, including Mal's birth four years after the husband's death), and that, therefore, the land passed to Jill Reynolds' husband's closest male relative. The male relative, living a slick life in Deerskin, the capitol city of Shadow, didn't want the land. He only sent a brief message to Mal, wishing him the best of luck, and saying that he'd returned the land to the government, to use as they wanted.

He never even saw the land. But he gave it to the Alliance.

And the Alliance had come to collect.

"Mr. Reynolds, what you have here is the opportunity of a lifetime." The Alliance broker said with a wide, toothy smile. He wore a clean hat and clean boots and a nice clean coat that paid homage to the "cowboy" look while proving that he had never, ever, been a cowboy.

Mal was then sixteen years old, and he said nothing. Neither did Jeb and Lee, the two senior ranch hands, and Mal's (former) joint legal guardians.

"As you see, your mother's lease on this land expires in one year. Just turn over all forty acres of Sweetwater Ranch to the Housing Zone and Commission, and we'll make sure the land gets taken care of, for as long as you could ever want. And you'll get a nice little stipend – enough to go to any college in the State, I shouldn't wonder! And then you get to come back here and work on your own land again. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"… Under the Alliance."

"Well… heh, yes. The Housing Zone will still own the land. But we will need workers, and you and your field hands will be well-taken care of while…"

"While we all live at the beck and call of the Deerskin authorities."

"Well… yes. But that's not such a bad proposition, now, is it?"

"We're not interested."

The broker's toothy grin faded somewhat. "Excuse me?"

"This land – land my father bought and paid for, and built on with his own hands, and land my mother turned into a community and a ranch to be proud of – this land is _not_ going to become a dog kennel."

The broker frowned. "Who said anything about kennels?"

"I'll find another private buyer for it. I can do that, yes? Says so in the fine print. I'll leave this land forever, before I see it chained up, given over to people who don't love it."

The broker sat back on the chair, his smile now entirely gone. "Seems to me 'love' is a bit of an odd word to apply to eighty acres of dust, twigs, and cow shit."

The next thing he knew, he was on his backside on the dirt outside of the door. Jeb and Lee had moved so quickly he'd never seen, and they were still glowering over him. Mal came up out of the house with a rifle in his hands – an old, junky, rusty thing, but his face said that he meant business.

He pointed the rifle at the broker. "I'll find a buyer myself, on my own terms. But while this is still my land, I invite you to leave."

The broker got to his feet, dust covering his fine fake-cowboy clothes. "You'll never come back to this land!" he shouted, just out of range of Jeb and Lee's arms. "You'll always be a poor, hungry no-good drifter!"

"But I'll be free," Mal answered.

And that was that. Wasn't long after that that Mal began running, hopping a cruiser to Fifth York, and meeting a smart girl named Zoe. And from what I heard, he's running still.


End file.
